First Kill
by Tigerlily1
Summary: It was cloudy the day the Riddles died... it was through that mist a figure apeared. He was a lost son, come back to have his revenge. That night would be the night he made his first kill.


**First Kill**

It was cloudy the day the Riddles were murdered.The morning had begun with fog, and by noon, a layer of thick, gray clouds covered the sky.By the time the sun finally sank below the horizon, a cool mist surrounded the village, and was especially thick by the Riddle house.

It was through this mist that a figure appeared.The figure was in the shape of a tall man, and walked so silently even nearby dogs did not bark, for they heard nothing.

He glanced through the windows of the Riddle house as he past them.A stiff and cold man and woman sat dinning with their stiff and cold son.From the looks of things, their conversation was not what you would call "lively."They sat concentrating on eating, barley talking except to tell each other to pass the butter.

The figure paused.Perhaps they were better than he imagined.He had never even met them after all.The may not have been the warmest people, but they were a family.His only family…

A family who hated him for what he was, he reminded himself.He concentrated on the power deep within himself.The Dark power he had been creating for months.There was just enough power there to kill three people…

And he would do it tonight.His first murder.It would be clean and simple, but very satisfactory.Tonight was the night he would be bloodied.And once you have murdered, you could never go back.

They had no idea what was coming.That filth through the windows would be dead within the hour.The thought calmed him a little.He continued walking around the house.When he had reached the door, he unlocked it magically, and walked in.The warm air rushed to greet him.It would not be warm for long.

He entered the dinning room and glanced over the three people at the table.There was no kindness in their eyes.He could imagine what these people, in their suits and evening gowns, though of him.A sixteen-year-old wearing black robes, hair askew, with a stick pointed right at them.This stick, he though, would be their undoing.

"Tom, call the police," the white-haired women ordered in a high-class crisp accent.

"Oh, I wouldn't move if I were you, _father."He said the last word with undisguised hatred._

At first, the gray-haired man looked bewildered.Then he said quite plainly, almost in a bored tone, "Now see here, you riffraff, I have no son."

"Oh, but you do," continued the crazed boy."Didn't you know?Of course you didn't; perhaps you simply conveniently forgot, hmm?Forgot you ever had a wife?Forgot she gave you a son?Forgot the pain and sadness you inflicted on both by leaving her?Hard thing to forget, actually…"

Suddenly, the man jumped out of his chair and ran to a buffet table on the wall.He reached into its drawer, pulled out a pistol, and pointed it at the bizarre boy claiming to be his son."I know how to use this, so sit down quietly until the police can deal with you."

The boy laughed the infamous Riddle laugh.High pitched, cold and cruel."Your silly muggle weapons are no use."With a flick of his wand, the gun sprang from the man's hand and into the boy's."Now, where were we?Oh, yes.I remember now."

The people seemed to sense the boy's wrath.The woman moved a little closer to her husband and the son sat down once more with a look of terror on his face.

Quite rapidly, the room got very cold.It was as if a giant vacuum had decided to suck all the warmth out of the house.The candles on the table went out and the electrical lamps flickered, then died.The only light came from an eerie, green glow that seemed to shine from the boy.He had both hand on his wand, and seemed to be drawing a great deal of power from somewhere deep within.

He opened his eyes.They seemed to shine a deathly, blood read color.For the first time since his arrival, the boy smiled.A twisted, sick smile that told the people once and for all what was coming.

"Good bye," the boy whispered.And then he said those fateful words: "_Avada Kedavra_."A greed light burst forth, striking each person down.Then it disappeared as quickly as it had burst forth.

The warmth returned to the room.The electricity lit the lamps once more.Even the candles relit themselves.The only difference was the three dead people lying at the feet of the boy known as Tom Riddle.

But that boy was no longer Tom Riddle.He felt his dark magic building up once more.The next kill would be easier.And the one after that.And soon, it was truly impossible to count the numbers of witches, wizards, and muggles who met their death through him.

That night, as he stared at the bodies of his family with looks of pure and blatant terror on their faces, he had made his first kill.And with that kill, he had transformed.Tom Riddle no longer, the boy was now utterly and completely Voldemort.

Voldemort would go on to kill thousands more.Because once you have taken a life, you can never go back.

You can never go back.

And he never went back.

A/NI use to write happy fics, I swear.Oh well, here's another one to add to the "depressed" pile.Oh yea, the disclaimer.Three letters: JKR.Got that?Good.Hmm…. I tend to be rambling, so I'll end this authors not by begging for reviews.Review, please!!!There.I'm done.All you Americans have a great Thanksgiving!


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